“Don’t you have a job to do?” I practically growl.
“Yeah.”
“Then go do it and forget about analyzing something that doesn’t deserve a second thought. I’m not into her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve barely even thought of her,” I insist, the lie rolling off my tongue like turpentine.
Now, he’s practically doubling over with laughter. “If you say so.” He sobers, clears his throat and leans in. “Good to know you’re not interested, because there’s a lady at the table over there that hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in and sat down. I guess since you’re not hung up on anyone else, you might as well go over there and buy her a drink.” He turns and heads down the bar to start making drinks, leaving his words hanging over me like a horrible headache.
I glance over my shoulder and spy a brunette with smoky makeup in a booth along the wall. Her friends’ attention is pointed at Jameson, but hers is directed at me. She sips a martini and gives me a grin. I know that smile. It’s one a woman gives a man when she’s interested in a shag.
Keeping my eyes on her, I turn a little and bring my drink to my lips. I watch her observe me, knowing this is exactly what I need to do to push Lyndee out of my mind. I’ve been all over the damn place since Monday when I discovered she was opening across the street. She invades my thoughts, day and night, and I’m tired of her fucking with my head. I thought maybe sleeping with her was the perfect solution, but by Wednesday morning, I had talked myself out of that. It was a horrible idea.
The brunette nibbles on her plump bottom lip. Normally, I’d find it sexy, but tonight, it feels forced and overdone. Why do all women bite their lip? I mean, Lyndee did it Monday afternoon when I was there, but not like this. She wasn’t trying to draw attention in that seductive way.
Forget about Lyndee.
I scan what I can see of her appearance, which is from the chest up. Tight red shirt with ample amounts of cleavage pouring out of the V-neck shirt. Lyndee wore a V-neck the other day too, but hers was a bit more tasteful. Not nearly as tight, nor were her tits popping out of the top like her shirt was two sizes too small.
Goddammit.
Just as Jameson finishes his set, the energy in the room starts to pick up. Everyone knows what’s about to happen, and to be honest, I’m still shocked it does. It’s a tradition on Friday and Saturday nights that dates back to the very first weekend we were open.
At eleven on the dot, Jameson sets his guitar down and everyone watches as Walker heads for the jukebox. With bated breath, we wait for tonight’s song selection. I slip behind the bar and pour a shot, like one of us does every time this happens. Tonight, I choose tequila, something he’s not a huge fan of. Serves him right for meddling in my business like a fucking girl.
Finally, the song starts, and the crowd goes wild. The familiar opening melody of “Looks That Kill” blares through the speakers, and the brunette catches my attention. She’s grinning like I chose that song just for her.
The entire bar starts to belt out the Mötley Crüe song as my friend makes his way back to the bar. He heads for the center, places his hands on the top, and hoists himself up. And yes, every patron is egging him on. Walker starts to dance, shaking his hips and ass like it’s his fucking job, and I guess, it is. That first night, we all had way too much to drink, celebrating our opening and praying for success, and I have no idea why he ended up on the bar at eleven o’clock, but he did.
And it was epic.
So ever since, we salute our favorite band with one of their songs at the stroke of eleven. Word spread so fast about the dance that it was expected, patrons coming from all over to observe the craziness by my friend.
I’ll never forget the night his girlfriend witnessed his bar top dance for the first time. I thought for sure he was toast, their relationship over, but do you know what? She laughed and egged him on. Didn’t complain about the panties thrown behind the bar or the numbers slipped into his palm. It takes a strong woman to not get jealous and pissed, but she saw instantly what we all knew.
Walker was pussy-whipped.
No way was he going to step out on Mallory, not then or now. He’s so deliriously in love with her you get a toothache from watching them.
So even though he’s on the bar, dancing and thrusting his hips like he starred in Magic Mike, we all know he’s only going home with one woman, and she isn’t in this room. She’s at their shared home with her daughter, waiting up with a glass of wine for her man to get home. I’ve never understood the appeal, but I guess I can see how less drama and headaches can be appealing.
“Hey, you.” I turn to see the brunette from the booth sliding between my stool and the one next to me, her tits pressed firmly against my arm.
“Hi,” I reply, giving her one of my trademark panty-dropping smiles.
She moves her martini glass to her lips with her right hand and practically purrs, “Mona.” She reaches out her left hand for me to take, her long, fake nails painted a deep red color, but that’s not what catches my attention. No, my eyes are riveted on the huge sparkly diamond ring on her left finger.
“Jasper,” I croak, staring at what looks like an engagement ring and its accompanying thin platinum band.
Fuck.
When my eyebrows draw together in question, she just shrugs her shoulders. “I’m in town for the weekend with some friends.” She glances at her own ring. “He knows I like to have fun,” she says, leaning into my personal space, her red lips dangerously close to my ear. “And you look like someone I can have fun with.”
I can’t help but smirk. Oh, I’m definitely the fun kinda guy, but my eyes just keep going back to that damn ring. I don’t make a habit of sleeping with married women. Oh, it’s happened before, but both times were accidents. Neither was wearing a ring, and they both conveniently left that part out of our introductions.
But now, even though she’s gorgeous and giving me those fuck-me eyes, seeing that damn ring is like being doused with a bucket of ice water. Well, that and the fact I can’t help but picture Lyndee. Her light makeup is such a stark contrast to the woman beside me. She has a natural beauty she doesn’t have to accentuate with smoky eye shadow and layers of mascara.
Dammit. Stop. Thinking. About. Lyndee.
Mona drains the rest of her drink and sets her empty glass down beside me. A shadow falls over us, and when I look up, I find one of my best friends still on the bar. His gaze is curious and holds a hint of irritation as he crouches down and grabs the shot glass, throwing it back and draining the contents. I can’t help a smug smile as he pulls a face and sets the glass back down, daggers aimed directly at me like bullets from a gun.
Serves him right.
Mona smashes her tits against my arm and leans into my side. “So, are you going to buy me a drink before we head back to my hotel room, or should we just leave now?” I can smell the gin on her breath.
Normally, a forward woman is hot as fuck, but I just can’t seem to get into her advances. Everything about this is…wrong. And I don’t mean to sound like a dick. She’s stunning and that wicked gleam in her eyes is no doubt promising a night of naughty bedroom fun, but I’m just not feeling it tonight.
“Sorry, love, but I’m not available this evening.”